


Lost and Found

by ablankshot



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Mild Blood, Spoilers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ablankshot/pseuds/ablankshot
Summary: Martin was never found in the Lonely. Instead he was found in the Archive storage closet. And found himself with a second chance.We were given one (1) canon instance of universe time travel hopping and we're going to run screaming down the halls with it. Will update characters and tags as needed, there are series spoilers ongoing as far as the beginning of 159.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 77





	1. We're Opening Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest most important request I have for readers is to not look too deeply into the timeline beyond this chapter. Time is wibbly wobbly and will be made my bitch to succumb to my whims.

There is a door. 

It is a strange door. It doesn’t look particularly strange, no, but it is still strange. Notably, its placement. Standing alone, firm and strong, against the light wind and shifting sands at its base. It remains unattached to anything, free and alone. Its bright, welcoming, looming yellow stands out against the grays of the sky behind it, or the empty waves crashing up at its frame. 

It is a door. Surely, it must open to somewhere.

* * *

It has been A Day. 

Jon watched Helen Richardson disappear, probably forever, and Michael popped in for a short visit, left some cryptic warnings, and even a goodbye present of Jon seeing his own blood! Quite kind, the Distortion. The thudding of his own heart and the rush of blood floods his ears, adrenaline coursing through him at a pace he can’t describe. Top all of that with the weird things Michael was saying, talking about a war and other powers. Jon decides, for now, to focus on applying pressure to the wound in hopes of helping stop the bleeding. That’s the smart, immediate choice. 

He almost misses the door. Not the slow, deafening creek of Michael’s door, but a fast, unsure turn of the knob and creek open of the supply closet door he knows so well. Maybe Michael was giving Helen back? Maybe some attempt to play fair at whatever this was he spoke of? 

No. 

What stumbles out of the Archive’s supply closet are familiar sneakers and the man wearing them. 

“Martin?” 

Jon blinks once, then remembers the recorder is still, well, _recording_ and his free hand fumbles to stop it, but his finger never quite hits the button. 

“Martin, what- Why were you in there? Did you hear _all_ of that?”

Martin, in front of him, is staring. Wide eyed and more than a little surprised (of course, he just stumbled out of the supply closet, eavesdropping) at being caught probably. But in a moment, relief washes over Martin’s face.

“ _Jon_? I-is that you?”

“Yes, of course it’s me. Did - Martin, you just came through that door, did you see Helen?” There are some things he notices, though. Had Martin washed that particular shirt wrong? The color was more faded than he remembered before. Martin looks like he’s hesitating on something before answering. 

“No. I-i didn’t see Helen at all in there.” Martin’s eyes are scrutinizing. “A-are you hurt? Jon, what happened to you?”

Ah. Right. He looks at the bloodied towel he’d pressed into the wound Michael gave him. If Martin didn’t see her, that means Michael still has Helen. The frustration is mounting. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s nothing.” He hears a guffaw from Martin without even having to look. “Why were you in the closet?”

Martin sputters, enough of a reaction for Jon to turn his attention away from his bleeding and back to the larger man. 

“You - you can’t ask people why they were in the closet, Jon. It’s rude.” 

“I was-- I _wasn’t_.” It’s the accusatory tone that gets his guard up before he can properly process what he’s being accused of. It’s not what he meant and Martin should know that. Unless, of course, he’s being willfully obtuse and refusing to answer his question. Why _was_ Martin hiding in the closet? It just lends to his theory that they are, indeed, lying to him. Jon huffs a bit and turns to dig out the first aid kit from his desk. Enough precautions after Prentiss had been a decent idea it turns out. 

“At least make yourself useful and help with this.” 

“R-right. Okay, right. I can do that.” There is some hesitation in Martin’s reaction, something Jon isn’t too aware at the moment to look at further. “How’d you get stabbed like this?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just… Some problem with recording the statement. That’s all.” There had been previous incidents of accidents during someone giving a statement, so this shouldn’t be too big a stretch. Besides that, while he’s annoyed it’s not the worst frustration he’s been in that he’ll turn it completely back on Martin or deny the help. He’s focused, the feeling of his shirt being moved and adjusted goes unnoticed. 

“Did the tape stab you _back_?” 

“Not anymore than the closet kicked you ou-- _ow_.” Right. Antiseptic, that stings like the dickens. He takes a steadying breath now that he’s prepared for Martin dabbing more into it. “Just something else to add to the pile.” His own worm scars have yet to fully heal properly, an issue only because he keeps setting his physical therapy back with stupid excursions in the tunnels. He keeps his eyes glued forward as Martin starts bandaging the injury. 

“You actually seem to be doing pretty well. Fewer scars than I remember, anyway.” 

“I know.” It’s an automatic response, he knows he’s doing well, as far as one can in these situations. It takes a moment for what he said to really hit. He _does_ look closer at Martin when he’s done. “Fewer? Martin, you saw me two hours ago. The scars are all the same, in fact I may have a new one added by time this heals. What are you talking about?”

“I--” There he is, hesitating again. “I’m sorry, I’ve had… had a bad day. Don’t listen to me, all right?” 

Jon reaches over with his good arm to turn the tape recorder off, then… Hesitates. He still wants to record all the conversations until he finds out for certain who killed Gertrude. And Martin is acting too weird even for _Martin_. He can’t bring himself to turn it off, so instead he moves just an inch the other direction to get his mug.

“So have I, by the look of things,” he gestures to the newly bandaged wound. “But fine. You don’t want to tell me why you were eavesdropping in the closet and you don’t want to explain why you’re acting weird now. I get it.” 

Still paranoid. Still looking for any sign of his coworkers lying to him and waiting for a moment one of them slips. And something must be slipping, judging by the way Martin’s expression hardens. Nearly chilly, even. 

“I wasn’t eavesdropping in there, Jon.” 

“It’s the only explanation I have for you hiding in there until I finished recording Helen’s statement since you _won’t_ tell me why you were in there.” 

“I-I wasn’t hiding, Jon. I just came out of the Distortion’s corridors, all right?” 

That was odd. Jon is used to Martin crumbling a bit, stumbling over himself to apologize, maybe offer to make tea. But this time, Martin straightened up and talked back. He seems more tired and frustrated than Jon’s used to seeing, and he blinks back at the affront.

“Th… The Distortion?” Jon is still reeling from the conversation, that Michael is connected to the Distortion if not the Distortion himself. But he knows for certain he hadn’t mentioned it around Martin. Had he heard it from Sasha? “How do you know about that?”

“You told me, Jon. And Helen herself, of course.” 

“You _just_ said you hadn’t seen Helen leave.” Helen didn’t even know the term ‘the Distortion’, just that she was lost in corridors and met a man named Michael. “I haven’t told you anything. I’ve been pointedly not telling _anyone_ anything.”

Martin stares at him for a moment. Like trying to figure something out, something about what Jon is telling him. “No, I didn’t see her leave? I didn’t see her at all. And, okay, you’re not very communicative, but I know _most_ things now, thanks.”

Jon fixes a look at Martin through his glasses. Everything he’s saying, every _word_ that comes out of his mouth is only feeding his paranoia. He stares at him seriously, noting now the lack of Martin’s glasses, can almost feel like he’s on the verge of finding some great truth but… Somehow he knows if he tries to ascertain it, he’ll fall to some depth he can never climb out of. 

“Martin,” he starts with a deep breath. He settles in his seat, starting to try and put himself back together. He needs some semblance of looking like he’s not falling apart at the seams. “You aren’t making any sense.”

“Well. W-well neither are you! Stay seated, Jon. Let me make us some tea.” 

Jon watches him before slowly lowering his head, his hair falling out of place and into his eyes almost immediately after being fixed. 

“Fine. Of course.” 

“Let’s just… Let’s go to the break room.” 

“No, I’d. I’d rather we talk here.” Jon realizes a moment later he said it a little too fast. But he doesn’t trust the breakroom where Tim or Sasha or Elias could just walk in. Sure, they could just as easily walk in here, but he feels safer. He can’t explain it, but with the statements and the recorder, it feels less conspicuous to have it recording here than if he drags it to one of the common areas. 

Martin stops midstep, nearly stumbling. “Well, I don’t have any tea down here, so that’s a problem.” 

Everything that comes out of Martin’s mouth is even more confusing. “Your desk is right over there, it’s. It’s still full of your tea and snacks.”

“What?”

Martin turns to look at his desk, as if he didn’t expect it to be there. As if all his trinkets and knick-knacks just bit him. “That, I-- But I cleaned it out months ago. How long was I in that corridor?”

“You’ve never cleaned it out.” 

Jonathan’s tone is low and even. Suspicions rising. One of the statements is coming to mind: the Not!Them. Maybe, maybe maybe. A few ideas creep into his mind. He’s noticing even more differences now - Martin’s skin tone more muted, the hair. Even the quiet sadness in his voice. He can’t trust this. Not until he knows for sure what’s going on. He’s running out of tape on this cassette, but he doesn’t dare turn to change it. 

His tone comes out more stern. No confusion, not frantic. The Archivist.

“Who are you.” 

“I’m Martin. Martin Blackwood, your-- Jon, how do you not know who I am?”

Jon doesn’t dare turn his eyes away, but his hands are shaking (fear? Adrenaline? The anticipation of fearing for his life again?). 

“Everyone in this Archive has been lying to me, in some way or another. I don’t trust anyone, least of all someone who _almost_ looks like Martin but doesn’t know what lies he’s told to keep straight.” 

Martin doesn’t seem to know what to say immediately to that. Jon caught him off guard, he sees the way Martin’s face flushes at that. Caught in a lie somehow, but which lie? 

“You had rum and raisin ice cream at my birthday outing.” 

“Tell me. What is going on.” 

“ _I don’t know what’s going on!_ I-- God, this has to be a hallucination. I’m just hallucinating you being all weird and paranoid, because the Lonely isn’t content to just - just leave me in silence. It needs me to be _tormented_ by the man I love instead, so I can feel even more alone with you here next to me--” 

Jon sits back at that, blinking rapidly. That’s much more emotional than he usually gets from anyone when he takes statements, let alone what’s being said. Especially from Martin. 

“The...The Lonely?” There are so many other parts to what Martin just said, but he’ll circle back to them. He watches Martin slowly sink into his desk chair, holding his head in his hands.

“Yes. The Lonely, I don’t know why I didn’t realize it sooner. It’s the only option.” 

Seeing that, the utter deflation of Martin into this pile… doesn’t sit right with him. Jon reaches to slowly nudge his arm. “This? Is not a hallucination.” Once Martin’s looking at him, he gestures to the bloodied towel on his desk, his blood on Martin’s hands from helping patch him up. “Something weird’s been going on since Jane attacked and you found Gertrude’s body.” He can hear the static on the tape recorder picking up. Busted old thing. “I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of it. But this? ...I don’t understand this.”

Martin makes a miserable noise Jon has never quite heard before. Almost truly despaired, different from his usual panic. “What do you mean, since Jane attacked.” 

“Jane Prentiss attacked the Archive. I’ve only been back a few weeks. We haven’t even gotten rid of all the fire extinguishers yet.” He’s still going to physical therapy, his worm holes haven’t even completely healed yet. Though, admittedly, that _is_ his own fault, continuing to run around the tunnels after hours. 

Something in Martin’s expression seems to still. “What day is it? What- what _year_ is it?”

“It’s the second of October. Twenty-sixteen.” 

“Oh. Oh god.” 

Jon’s paranoia is spiking horribly, watching Martin’s entire posture go limp, like he wants to collapse at this news. 

“Right. So. Again I ask: who are you.” 

“I… I’m Martin Blackwood.” Martin looks genuinely upset right now. His voice wavers, “Martin Blackwood from September twenty-eighteen.”

The quiet that falls between them is enough to fill the whole room like water. Jon is finally the one to break the silence.

“That’s not possible.”

“I bloody well know it isn’t! But- but it’s happening anyway!” 

Jonathan takes a slow, steadying breath. “This is some-- It has to be some elaborate prank by Tim. He put you up to this.” Tim and Sasha both know he’s been trying to get to the bottom of something, causing him to fall deeper and deeper into his own paranoia. He knows because they’re starting to get annoyed and suspicious of _him_. He thinks it’d be easy to get Martin in on whatever this is. “Fine. Fine, if they want to do this, then I’ll just keep working to find the truth.”

For one long, agonizing moment, the only sound in the Archives is the slow ticking of the old clock’s second hand. Martin is still staring at him, but something in his expression breaks. He lets out the smallest, strangled sob as his hands rise to cover his mouth. 

“Tim’s still alive?” It’s barely a whisper through his fingers. 

Jon’s mouth half-hangs open, dumbfounded and struck by three simple words. His pulse is still between his ears, loud and drowning out all logical thought. Distantly, he knows he can’t hear anything else, no other sounds around them. (Everyone has started avoiding him, sitting and working further away, so on the best days the most he hears is a distant shuffle of papers in folders, but now….)

“What?”

It doesn’t make sense. Sure, he has trouble trusting Tim right now, any of the staff, but that doesn’t mean he would want to see him _dead_. Tim is… was his friend, same as Sasha. It’s why he requested they transfer to Archives with him, he _knew_ them. The idea that this Martin in front of him is positing that Tim _might_ be dead leaves Jon gobsmacked. 

“I-i guess he’d have to be. If it’s only twenty-sixteen--” Martin stops mid-sentence, like something new just occurred to him. “Sasha. You have to get away from Sasha. She’s not-- _not_ Sasha.” 

The tea has been long forgotten by now, and the tape recorder still somehow has plenty of tape left on its spool to keep recording. It’s so far from Jon’s mind while he watches Martin have some kind of breakdown in front of him. But that’s just it, isn’t it? Everything coming out of his mouth is _wrong_.

This isn’t Martin Blackwood. 

“And you’re not Martin, even if I can’t explain it. We’ve dealt with supernatural beings and, and stories of cults and anything else. But time travel? Even that’s a little far fetched.”

“No. It’s happened. We have a - a statement, I’ve seen it. Statement 0092204, given by Anya Vilette.” 

“What?” Jon’s thoughts had begun spiraling, wondering what kind of creature this Martin could be, how it played into what was going on, what it had to do with Gertrude’s murder (awfully convenient for Martin to have found it after breaking away from himself and Tim in the middle of everything, no one else there to witness--) and what’s happening now. The statement number isn’t familiar to him, he hasn’t read it yet. And he doesn’t recognize the name either.

“I haven’t read it yet. Where is it?”

“I think… In a box, on top of the row E shelving? Nowhere near the rest of the Hilltop Road statements.” 

Jon can practically feel his blood run cold. “Hilltop Road,” he repeats, more to himself. Confirming that _is_ what he just heard. He’s beginning to hate that house. Jon covers his mouth with one hand while he thinks. Gets up and paces around his chair once. Twice. Eight times. The sound of his shoes hitting the carpet is soft, muffled. Still new after the worms. It’s enough to cover the frantic way he shuffles in place for a moment. 

“Come with me.” 

He’ll find this time travel statement, if it exists. Martin trails after him, though it’s hard to tell with how silent the larger man is behind him. With the Archives in such disarray, anyone walking through would miss the shelving labels - large stickers plastered on to the end of each row. Except with the worm invasion, the ensuing chaos, and general age and overwhelming amount of boxes in here, the row labels are becoming harder to see under the dust and neglect. 

Thankfully, Jon is acquainted with most of the rows by now. He quickly makes the trek from his office to the aisles, turning down the E row. 

“Do you need me to get it down for you?”

“I - No.” Jon huffs a breath at that as he grabs for the step ladder dragging it to the shelves. “I’ll check the one on this end here, you check the other shelves.”

Martin stares at him. Then at the step-ladder. Then at the shelf. “It’s the one on the left.” He points, the very top shelf a single box set aside. Jon stares at him, then at the box he’s pointed to. 

“I don’t know how I feel about this twenty-eighteen Martin Blackwood know-it-all.” It’s pure frustration that he moves the ladder to where the box is, carefully climbing up. His physical therapist will have it out for him when he goes back, just ruining his progress and destroying the leg that got corkscrewed. But digging through the box, he finds the exact statement Martin said. 

“At least know-it-all future-Martin is accurate.” 

The hanging light overhead flickers, dims a bit, making it hard to see the color in Martin’s cheeks. Though it does look odd considering how pale Martin looks at the moment. But likely just a trick of the light. Jon climbs down two steps and looks the folder over. 

“I-- Look. Despite all those terrible things you said about me, Jon, I’m actually not a bad assistant.” 

Jon hears it, but it’s a distant acknowledgement on his part. He’s gotten to the first page of the statement and started reading. He doesn’t think anything about the click that sounded a few shelves down, or that he can’t help but read it aloud. The whole of the Archives seems to encase them as he reads, his voice echoing the small distance to the shelves around them. It feels almost cocoon-like, Jon in his element amongst the soft sounds of a tape recording, the building’s settlement creaking in whispers. The whole of the Archives surrounds them and closes in on them. 

Just as quickly as Jon began, he finishes. Somewhere in reading the statement, he’d sat on the step-ladder. The file sits open on his lap while he thinks. Hilltop _is_ an anomaly in so many ways, but an interdimensional rift is a bit much even for him. 

“You knew about this statement already before I’d even read it. Did you look into Ms. Vilette?” 

“A little. She doesn’t exist here - no record of her. A-and Lettings, the owner? Doesn’t own Hilltop Road here. It’s an alternate timeline probably, with a side of - well. Showing up two weeks prior.”

“But that’s….” _Absurd_ , Jon initially wants to say. But hasn’t everything that’s happened in the Archive the last few months also been absurd? Jane Prentiss, Michael, everything? He glances back down at the file in his hands again, finally seeming to relax. The absurdity of it all is the most normal thing so far. “You’re _really_ from twenty-eighteen then? Tim’s… dead?” 

“Yes. He’s-- he got blown up saving the world.” Martin turns his head, like he can’t look Jon in the face, “So did you, technically.” 

Everything of the last hour or so is exhausting. The wound Michael gave him is pounding, a fresh ache, and it’s leaving Jon so, so tired. If Martin really is from the future, doesn’t that mean he shouldn’t even ask anything else? Wouldn’t it change anything, or create a different timeline universe like Martin is saying? It could be detrimental to everything.

But he wants to _know_.

“....I think I’m ready for that tea, Martin.” 

“Right, okay. M-me too.” 

Jon keeps one hand clutched onto that file while the other reaches for something solidly to pull himself to his feet with. The last hour is catching up to him and he’s dizzy, his leg aches from the unusual sitting position he’d sat in. 

“I didn’t… I didn’t thank you. For bandaging this.”

“O-oh. Ah. Sure, of course. Any time, Jon.” 

The walk back to Jon’s office is easy enough, amid the sputtering light in the main hallway giving light to their way. Jon sits heavily in his own chair, file set on the desk and he sees the recorder is _still_ going. Jon had wondered recently just how much tape is on these spools. Martin’s made himself busy going to the little electric kettle, getting water, mugs, tea bags. 

“Why would you suddenly appear here from twenty-eighteen?”

For the moment, it seems as though Martin’s too busy to answer, like he won’t answer. It takes the whole of the water boiling, tea steeping, pouring, and all before he turns to come back. 

“There was a door. I took it.” 

“A… door.” Jon’s attention is fully on Martin now with what had just happened to him. He takes the mug in both hands, a little shaky, a little nervous and unsettled, all entirely still in pain. 

“Y-yes, a door. The Distortion’s door - Helen now, that’s probably new for you. And - And I know that’s a _terrible_ idea, but. The alternative was worse.” All that came spilling out it seems, so that Martin could finally sit into the other chair. The steam from Martin’s tea seems to disappear a lot more quickly than Jon’s, but maybe it was prepared first and sat longer.

Jon hesitates, watching and taking that information in. “I’m sure it must have been.” Martin had always been a bit of a scaredy cat if it didn’t involve following up a statement. To take an unknown mystery door two years into the past, it must be bad. The paranoid part of him is starting to give way to the more logical part, the Archivist side of him that wants to know, _needs_ to know. If this _is_ all true and not an elaborate prank or some kind of trick, then it has so many deeper implications. 

“What did you mean about Sasha.”

Martin takes in a deep breath at that. “She’s… she’s not herself. She’s a monster. Somehow, she got replaced during the Prentiss attack.”

“Re...Replaced.” The tea is too hot, as always, every time he’s overeager to drink it. Jon lets out a hiss trying to cool his mouth. “Replaced with what?” 

“She’s a- a Not-Them. A Not-Sasha. There’s - a couple statements, I think. One about a replaced mother, and then a cousin.” 

“...And a neighbor across the street. Statement 0070107.” Jon remembers. Because that statement had the Table. The Table now currently sitting in artefact storage. The realization must be clear by the way his face pales a couple of shades. 

“Yes! Yes, that one too. With the table.” Martin watches Jon carefully, before his voice lowers a bit. “She’s a monster now, Jon.” 

Jon eyes focus on the tape recorder, still going. If only he had the tapes from during the attack. He still can’t believe Sasha would have lost hers, the only one missing from the whole event. He’s already asked her to recount the events, he won’t prod again. 

“How would I Have not noticed?”

Martin’s laugh at that is unpleasant, brittle. “None of us realized. None. Not even - even me, or Tim or anyone else.” 

“God…” Jon says it on an exhale, a breath to try and calm himself from the rising paranoia. He runs a hand through his bangs to get them out of his eyes (a sure sign that it’s time for a cut again, he can’t _stand_ the edges of his hair getting in his way). He doesn’t even care that his fingers are still covered in his own blood, or that his tea is still too hot when he sips again. There’s such a bigger picture here that he’s only seeing a small corner of, and he’s starting to realize just how much bigger the picture might really be.

“I don’t understand.” 

“No, I… I suppose not. It’s. Do you believe me at least?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Better than a no,” Martin sighs. 

“There’s… It’s a lot. You understand right? I mean, I’m- I still don’t know who killed Gertrude, and you’re telling me Tim _dies_ and Sasha isn’t Sasha.. This whole thing is a bloody mess.”

Martin straightens, sensing an implied question. “Oh. That’s - Elias killed Gertrude.” 

Jon can tell his face goes through a series of expressions. Mild surprise at the words, confusion as the words sink in and he understands what Martin is saying, then disbelief at the comprehension. 

“What.” 

“Well. Technically, it was Jonah Magnus, I- I suppose.” 

“ _What_?” 

“It’s - Look, you know I don’t like wine, but this is absolutely a wine conversation. Or - or _something_.” 

Jon is reeling, he’s _staring_. There isn’t much else he knows to even say. What the hell. What in the bloody _hell_. “I think the blood loss is getting to my head. I. I thought you just said _Jonah Magnus_ , the Institute’s originator, killed Gertrude.” 

“Yes. Yes, I did. Because he’s in Elias Bouchard’s body right now. Probably watching us.” 

“What… What do you me-- God, okay,” Jon stops himself, running both hands down his face now. “Start from the beginning. Tell me what happened.” He can still hear the tape recording. The spool is endless it seems. Martin glances at the recorder, almost familiar before back to Jon. 

“Right. Right, okay. You said that Michael just stabbed you, right? And ate Helen?”

“Yes. Just now, right before you came out of the closet.” 

Martin’s expression flashes a mild irritation but. “Right. Twenty-sixteen, have you figured out my CV yet?”

“... What about your CV?”

“That’s a no, then. Ah. So… So you’re going to get framed for murder.” 

“Wh-what?!” Jon’s instinctive worry is who would do that. But maybe he’s been paranoid lately. And maybe he’s been sneaking around. And _maybe_ he’d been considering sitting outside his assistants’ homes to watch. But that’s - That’s not enough to frame him for _murder_. “Martin. Tell me what happens.”

“Okay, okay! I’m just establishing things, I’m having a _slightly_ bad day myself!” Martin needs to breathe for a moment, seemingly get his head together. “In. In a few months from now, you’re going to meet Jurgen Leitner. For all of twenty minutes, anyway, until Elias comes along and murders him with a pipe. I still don’t understand why he did that, except that he would have interfered with Elias’ grand plan but… You end up out in the world for months after, while the others and I try to keep the Institute running. Taking statements and - and trying not to die. Also quickly figuring out that we’re all bound to this hell job and will die if we try to quit.”

Jon’s spine straightens the moment _Jurgen Leitner_ leaves Martin’s lips. He not only meets him, but Elias kills him? Great for the world that Leitner’s gone but… Why frame Jon? Besides the obvious, of course Elias wouldn’t want to go to jail. But they’ll.. Die, if they quit? There’s so much information there to try and understand and dissect. 

What the hell is this place.

“What the _hell_ is this place.” 

“A stronghold of the Eye. Part of - part of _something_ , I’m sure of it, but I never found out what Jonah’s planning. I got… Removed before that happened.”

Jon’s eyes are so focused on Martin. Trying to comprehend what he’s being told. But it’s too big. It’s too much and it’s not cohesive or coherent and he really needs Martin to just start at the beginning. On the other hand, he said Elias - Jonah, is probably listening. Something that kept tapping at the back of his mind comes back now, that ever present feeling of being watched. He reaches to turn off the recorder, sets his mug down and grabs his torch.

“Come with me.” 

Martin looks confused for just a moment, then recognition. He gets up easily enough, follows after Jon quietly. “I’m right here with you.” 

Jon leads the way through the Archives, making sure the rest of the team don’t see them going down through the trap door into the tunnels. It’s hard when he’s even more paranoid of Sasha now. But he leads them down, he remembers some of the way. He’s sort of gotten the hang of the passageways. He still doesn’t know them well enough to know where he’s going, but at least enough to know where _not_ to turn, following the few markers this early in that are left. Jon is focused intently on this, he doesn’t notice how Martin’s footsteps even in this stone passage seem to fade again. Even his breathing seems to disappear, and Jon forgets there was anyone with him. 

He finally stops and heaves a sigh when he thinks they’ve gone in far enough. Martin is there at his side, no issue at all.

“All right. From the beginning. I get framed for murdering Leitner because Elias, who is actually _Jonah Magnus_ , kills him. And the Archive is part of the Eye which is part of something bigger, and if any of us try to leave we’ll die. Am I with you so far.” 

“Yes. That’s accurate so far.” 

“What then.”

Martin takes a breath, steadying himself. Like trying to remember the pieces. “After you come back, the Stranger tries to end the world with a ritual. Through the Unknowing. So we all decided to try and interrupt it with some of, ah. With some of Gertrude’s old arsenal. At least, that’s what half of us were doing. You and Tim and Daisy and Basira. Melanie and I stayed behind to get Elias thrown in jail.” 

A couple small tiny details fall into place for Jon, but he doesn’t say anything yet. He wants to confirm what he thinks when he goes back upstairs. Or wakes up. Whichever happens first. Instead, he outwardly nods.

“All right. Then what.” 

Martin’s breath seems to echo off the walls of this place, distorting him more as he continues. It all reverberates in his ears, watching as the man looks more defeated. 

“It all works. The Unknowing gets blown up. I manage to distract Elias enough for Melanie to get the evidence she needs to send him to jail. But you and Tim both die in the explosion. Daisy ends up in the Buried. And ...And Peter Lukas takes over the Institute.” 

“Peter- Peter _Lukas_? From the Tundra, the Lukas family?” Christ. 

“Yes, that’s the one. He’s… He’s not a pleasant man.”

“Considering how he and his family put an immediate stop to all our investigations they’re a part of, I would assume so.”

“Worse than that. So much worse, if I’d known--” Martin’s voice seems to crack, unhelped by some sound of shifting stone deeper in the tunnels. “You spent six months in the hospital. And the Institute was - Was so much worse than it had ever been. We got attacked by the Flesh at some point. Jared and his bodybuilders. Would have killed all of us if Melanie hadn’t stabbed his followers to death and shoved him in Helen’s corridors. After that, I… I agreed to join up with Lukas.” 

Martin seems … faded after that. It’s a lot of information all at once. Jon can’t fully parse it all out, too many names and things he vaguely recognizes (Jared and body builders?), too many questions. Why was Melanie involved in any of this, Melanie _hates_ him. 

“ _Helen’s_ corridors?”

“Yes. She - ah - took over being the Distortion. From Michael. I think after you got kidnapped? It was before the Unknowing.”

The longer he listens, the more Jon’s head feels like it’s spinning. Maybe going underground like this just after being injured and losing blood wasn’t the smartest of his ideas. He feels dizzy and rests his head in one hand, starting to lean against the tunnel wall. 

“All right, all right. Circle back to that thing you said at the very beginning. That ‘man I love’ comment and being tormented.” 

Martin seems to go completely pale at that. 

“I… I worked for Lukas. Like I said. His endgame was to make me control the Panopticon for him. And when I refused, he tossed me into the Lonely.”

Now both hands are cradling Jon’s aching head. His skull is pounding and his newest wound aches. But if what Martin’s saying is true, then this is the safest and only place to discuss any of this. But he still doesn’t know if it’s _true_. The only proof so far right now is Martin’s words.

“This is… A lot to process, Martin.” 

“I know. I know, I-- Look, why don’t you sit down? You don’t seem well.” 

“It’s fine, I’m all right.” 

He knows he isn’t. 

“I just want to get to the bottom of this.” 

He does, but he won’t. He can feel his weight distantly lilting to one side.

“I can’t… stop until I _know_.” 

He knows that he’s sliding down against the tunnel wall, the distant sound of stone scraping and Martin calling his name muffling as he knows nothing more.


	2. Everything I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic life is weird, Jon sits at alone at a table for two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My day job got intense and my country is an on fire garbage can, sorry for the wait.
> 
> I am once again asking you not to think too hard about the timeline of events.

The bed is soft. It’s nice, good even. It’s even better that it’s his own bed after so long falling asleep in the Archives and then the hospital. Jon’s head still hurts, but it’s likely from simply passing out underground with no food or caffeine. But he is surprised to be waking up in his own home. Tucked so gently into his own bed.

“Wha….. What, how’d I get here?” 

The last thing he remembered was talking in the tunnels, the pain in his shoulder throbbing. But there’s some smell coming from the kitchen, delicious whatever it is. The longer he lays there focusing, the clearer the sound is of someone trying to bustle about quietly, like they’re trying not to wake him. 

“Oh. You’re awake.”

“Martin.”

Jon looks up to see Martin peeking around through the door. His door. He was so sure he dreamed all of that, but if he did then why is Martin in his flat?

“What…. I- I think I need to lay down.” His head immediately falls back to the pillow.

“You’ve _been_ lying down for the past six hours. I was starting to get worried.”

“You’ve been _in my flat for the last six hours_?”

“I- I ducked out to get some ingredients but. Yes? I was _worried_ about you.”

Jon’s brows lower a bit, eyes narrowing at that figure in his doorway. There’s a worry there, that Martin saw his bedroom, his privacy broken. 

“Nevermind that, _how_ did you even get in?”

Martin’s expression flattens, his tone deadpan. “Key under your doormat. _Not_ subtle.”

“Well.” Jon crosses his arms. “You put it back right?” Under the doormat was the best place to put it really. So cliche no one would think to look.

“Wh...Why would I put it back? You’re just asking to be robbed, Jon.”

“Do you see anything here worth stealing?”

Martin looks around the small flat, clearly lived in but not actually much in the way of _things_. Sure there’s furniture, there are books and notebooks and research implements. A television that looks like it hasn’t seen use in some time, and Jon’s bag with (Martin assumes) Jon’s laptop in it by the door. Probably the only really unusual thing is the corner of his dresser are a small arrangement of shells and odds-and-ends, his collection. 

“W-well… Well, no, but it would be a hassle rebuying things.” The man sighs, like he doesn’t know what to do with this. “The key’s on the table. Do what you like with it after dinner.” 

Only now that Martin mentioned ‘dinner’ does Jon smell it. He leans over the side of the bed trying to see what he’s doing but ultimately… Yeah, he’s got to get up. He’s still a little uneasy on his feet, his bad leg twinging with the weight. But nothing keeping a hand on the wall or door frame won’t fix. He looks into the kitchen to see actual cooking happening. A pot of soup on the stove, some cheese toasties being assembled. With Jon up on his feet, Martin gives him one more look before returning to getting those toasties together.

“What brought this on, anyhow, Martin?”

“I was hungry. And.. A-and I don’t know what will happen if I use my charge card, so I had to go with whatever was cheapest at the tuck shop.”

Jon moves closer to watch. He can’t remember the last time he cooked something different in his own flat. 

“Right, the. Two years in the past, yes, yes.” He sounds preoccupied. Once he’s got the idea of what Martin’s doing, he goes to his living room to his corkboard and looks at the pieces. Then slowly moves Sasha’s name to one far side, grabs a new scrap and writes ‘Not-Sasha’ and puts it in her place.

“Exactly. My past self would definitely question an extra bank charge.”

“Of course, of course…” Jon says it so absent-mindedly, not fully paying attention. He’s preoccupied still, rearranging those red strings, looping them differently. Move Tim’s name and create a new scrap about _The Unknowing_ , and another under that _blows up_ and pin Tim there. “We still have a lot of answers to find before anything else.”

“I can answer some of them.” 

_That_ gets Jon to stop and look back at Martin, who at some point had turned to watch _him_. He steps away and gestures to the board. “Please.” 

Martin fiddles with something at the stove before coming to take a look. “You really need the Entities in here somewhere.”

“The… Entities.” Jon has never heard about this in his life. Sure, Martin had babbled something about ‘The Lonely’ before, and there’s the Distortion which… Hm. “Paper’s all there.” 

“O-okay. Then… Well.” Martin finds a clear spot below what Jon has set up and sets to make a wheel of fourteen slips of paper. One for each entity, its name written in clear block letters. 

Jon keeps an eye on - what is this? Soup? - the soup, giving it an occasional stir so it doesn’t stick. But fourteen… That’s a lot of new pieces on the board.

“So. Entities.” 

“Right. They’re like. Eldritch gods of fear .Or maybe pieces of one big eldritch _mass_ of fear, who knows. But they’re all behind the statements in some way.” Martin hesitates, then adds a fifteenth slip of paper to the side. He grabs a string and, in one deft motion, ties the connection between ‘Eye’ and ‘The Magnus Institute’, then strings it further to ‘Elias’.

“Hm. I-i suppose I did notice some recurring themes. I just assumed it was… you know. Natural.” Jon thinks on that, Elias having anything serious to do with the Institute beyond being its head. It’s enough of a distraction that he nearly misses the pot beginning to boil over. He realizes the issue and can’t hide the mild panic in the kitchen. He quickly takes the pot off the burner, grumbling a bit. 

“Well - I mean, yes, sort of, but just _super_ -” 

Martin turns in time to see the pot start to boil over. He jolts back towards the commotion wit ha yelp, reaching to turn the heat down. “How did you mess that up?!”

“You started it! You had it on this setting, I simply stirred it a bit!”

“Yes, I did! And it was fine because it was simmering, and the wooden spoon keeps it from overflowing when you’re _not stirring it!_ ”

“But if you’re not stirring it, then it _sticks to the bottom and burns!”_

“You… You don’t know anything about cooking, do you.”

“Oh - _shut_ up.” For now, Jon moves out of Martin’s way. 

“Look, I’m just. I’m _concerned_ now.” Jon watches Martin return the pot to the stove and back to managing it and starting to fry up sandwiches at the same time.

“Don’t be. I’ve taken care of myself this long without issue. I just don’t usually make soup.”

Martin levels a look at him. “When it comes to taking care of yourself, you are the person I trust _least_.”

Jon feels judged. He feels distinctly judged possibly for things he hasn’t even done yet. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s just say you’re looking _remarkably_ healthy right now, Jon.”

“I’m remembering before I woke up that I said I really don’t know that I like Mr. Know It All From The Future Martin.”

He watches Martin flush a bit, even if it doesn’t quite reach his cheeks properly. “S-sorry, I just. Look, could you sit down? Dinner’s nearly ready. We can talk conspiracy theories all you like after.” 

“Sure.” Jon can’t help the weird feeling he’s had since they started talking. There’s clearly parts of the story Martin isn’t telling him yet. And even he isn’t lost that Martin skirted around the whole ‘man I love’ comment when he was pointedly asked about it. But fine. Dinner. A very domestic dinner in a domestic flat with his domestic coworker and… friend? That stumbled out of a closet and claims to be from two years in the future. Very domestic. 

“Could you get out some plates please?”

Martin’s voice cuts through his thoughts for a moment, enough that Jon sort of dumbly goes about the request. It feels strange. The casualness of this is odd. Not having someone in his flat or anything, but that it’s Martin and he apparently feels right at home with Jon’s cheaper looking plates and all.. 

“How’d you learn to do all this?”

Martin scrapes the toasties onto those cheap looking plates and starts carrying everything to the table. “Oh, ah. My mum taught me some of it when I was very little. I remember helping her in the kitchen when I was six or seven. And - and then after she got sick, I practiced a lot more.”

“Oh.” That does make sense. Jon watches this proceeding, a pang of… something in his chest. He isn’t sure quite sure what to call it, but it makes him think back to his own life before the Archives. “It smells good.”

“Yeah? G-good. It’s one I made a lot. Simple, hard to mess up, really cheap.” 

And yet Jon still somehow messed up _soup_ of all things. A moment watching as Martin sits at his table, trying not to think about that, and he brings a couple glasses of water and spoons to the table. 

“I...suppose. I can’t remember the last time I ate dinner with anyone.”

“No? Not at all?”

Jon notes that smile as Martin accepts the glass and starts in on the meal. “No. I mean, I don’t really hang out with any of you outside the Archive, you’re my staff. And. Well, the work we do doesn’t really… I mean, since the attack and all.” He’s aware he’s the Creepy Archivist in a Creepy Archive. Who would want to hang out with that? Though, admittedly, he does miss hanging out with Sasha and Tim, like old times. 

“You could always ask past-me.” Martin’s voice cutting through his thoughts again. “I have it on good authority that he’d probably say yes.”

The Archivist doesn’t answer for a moment. Chewing his bite thoughtfully, sighs into the meal. “You all are starting to hate me. So, I think I’ll… Postpone that idea.”

Silence falls between them again, the reality of the situation at the Institute settling in. The oddness of this entire situation is beginning to creep in - Martin sitting at his dining table eating a meal he cooked for Jon. It’s…. 

“I don’t hate you,” Martin cuts in. “Tim… Tim definitely hates you.” He says it with a wince.

Jon exhales deeply. “Tim _definitely_ hates me.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that’s fair. He kind of deserves that. But if Martin’s telling him the truth, that tim _dies_ before this is all over… Jon doesn’t want TIm hating him in the end.

“Well, you can work on that now. I’ll- I’ll get out of your hair soon enough, and things can get better for you.” 

“What do you mean? You’ll be ‘out of my hair’?”

“Well, I can’t bloody well stay here, can I? I have to go back. Somehow.” Even Jon can catch Martin’s wince at that. Back to the Lonely, maybe? “Or I’ll just leave town. Something.” 

“Nonsense.” Jon is still eating, not looking at Martin. But he’s making the decision right now. His tone is matter of fact, “You’ll stay here until we figure things out.” He would never admit it, but he’s worried. About Martin like this, about how there’s almost no color to his skin or how… muted he seems. Muted is the best descriptor he can get to. Martin blinks at him, like he isn’t sure he heard that right. 

“But - I can’t. That’s not fair to you-”

“It is if I say it is.”

“Are you _sure?_ ”

Jon takes another bite. “I am.”

Martin looks down at his food, a redness creeping into his cheeks, just barely visible. “Well. Well, then okay. I can’t go back to my place so…”

“So, couch is all yours. Just don’t make this weird.” Not that he has any idea how ‘weird’ translates here given the circumstances. He knows he’s bound to get annoyed with Martin sooner than later, but if it means he can get some answers? And possibly keep an eye on one of his staff closer? He’ll take it.

“R-right. No weirdness. I can manage that.” Martin laughs nervously. “I can pay you back by making dinner?”

“You already did.” As a matter of fact, Jon pulls his bowl over to start in on the soup.

“I-i meant making dinner every night I’m here, not just tonight.” 

“Oh.” He hadn’t considered that? He was figuring he’d just fill the fridge with ready meals and call it a day. “That… Could work.”

“I mean, it’s the least I can do. I can’t exactly pay you, or even buy supplies or. O-or anything like that.” 

“Don’t worry about buying supplies. If I’m eating it, then I’m buying the ingredients.” He’s already planning a list in his head, but he realizes he doesn’t want Martin to talk badly about him buying the wrong things. 

Martin seems to soften with that, gratitude on his face. “Well, I’ll clean too, then. Live-in cook and maid in exchange for room and board?”

Jon makes some kind of noise in his throat at that. It isn’t a pleased noise, but not anger. Just _eugh_. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad. You’re my friend crashing with me for a while, that’s all.” 

“S-sorry, I just… What choice do either of us have, really?” 

Jon takes a deep breath, thinking before he speaks again. This escalated a bit more than he’d planned in just a few minutes, but not in a bad way. “I’ll give you some money to buy ingredients.” 

Martin seems to brighten at that suggestion near-instantly. “Oh, yes. I mean, that way I can go shopping while you’re at work and have everything ready for when you go back.” 

“Right. Okay! Sounds like we have a plan.” 

“Good, then. Yes.” Martin takes the last bite of his sandwich. “Thank you, Jon.” 

Jon watches him for a long moment. “Thank you for answering most of my questions.”

“I’ll keep answering them if you like. As long as I’m stuck here.” 

Jon won’t mention that Martin dodged around one specific question he asked. He’ll circle back around to it another day. “You probably need some rest.”

“That… would be nice, yes. If I could borrow a blanket and your couch?”

Jon nods, heading to the linen closet. He digs out a blanket, some pillows… Notes how chilly Martin seems to be and grabs a heavy duvet as well. “Of course. Help grab these, we’ll get you set up.” 

“Of course, let me just-” Martin grabs the pillows and gets them to the sofa. Meanwhile, Jon gets everything else and starts unfurling the blanket and duvet. 

“I can give you some cash tonight. I, erm. I don’t have any extra toothbrushes or anything, sorry.” 

“And I didn’t exactly get a chance to pack, so. I’ll just pick up a few more things while I’m out tomorrow.”

Jon just… Looks at him. He remembers how rough Martin looked after those two weeks the man was stuck in his apartment alone. He hopes this may be better, all things considered. Jane Prentiss isn’t a problem now, there’s working power and food options here, and he isn’t alone. Martin still looks dangerously pale even after a meal. At the very least, he seems less anxious than when this whole thing started.

“Whatever you need, Martin.” 

“R-right. Toothbrush and toiletries, change of clothes.” 

“What else do you need for tonight?”

“I might borrow a book to read? I-i don’t have my phone to charge, so.” 

“Of course. Bookshelf is there, whatever else you need.” The bookshelf is, for all his effort, overstuffed but is in perfect categorization. Martin nods, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“That’s really all. I’ll probably just go to sleep anyway.” 

“All right.” Jon feels… weird about this. He has the sudden instinct to offer a shoulder pat or something, but he’ll tamp that down. “Bathroom is down the hall to the right if you need it? I’ll leave a light on.” 

Martin selects a book from the shelf, turning it over in his hands. “Right. Thank you. I’ll be careful not to wake you.” 

Jon watches him before going to his room. He plans to keep an ear out, listen for him. With everything going on and what happened earlier in the day, he can’t be too careful. But tomorrow, he plans to do more investigating. Come home and work on finding more answers with the Martin here. 

* * *

The next couple of weeks go by quickly. Jon can’t help but look back one afternoon and think of how strange it is in how casual, and… almost natural it feels. The domesticity of it all. Go to work, stop by the grocery on the way home, and see Martin there ready with whatever he prepared when he gets back to his flat. 

It almost feels like being back with Georgie those years ago. If Georgie didn’t make him worry so much about the paleness of her skin. How utterly muted she felt. No, that’s all Martin. Even stranger was remembering the Martin he sees and talks with at the Archive is _not_ the same Martin helping put together his cork-string-board with answers at home. Nearly three times just today, Jon had almost forgotten and made some off hand comment about dinner to Martin-at-the-Archive before catching himself. 

He hangs his jacket up, shoes off at the door. Hears Martin call out from further in asking how work was. 

“It was…” Ugh. Tim really needn’t make assumptions like he does. “It was all right.”

Martin watches him curiously before finishing folding the shirt he was on and sets it aside. “What’s the trouble today, then?”

Jon hesitates. He has no idea where to even begin here. It’s so juvenile and not the least bit relevant to the Archive or Gertrude’s murder or… anything. It’s simply childish. “You know the officer who’s been coming by, investigating everything? Basira? Tim spoke with her and now he thinks she and I are… You know. Outside of work.” Martin’s always spent more time with Tim once they got to Archives, surely he gets it without Jon having to _say_ it. 

“Wait. What - you and Basira? _Really_?” 

“ _Yes_.” Jon can’t hide how annoyed and exhausted he is by it. 

Martin chuckles before giving a small sigh. “Well, Tim just assumes everyone has his libido.”

Jon sort of flops onto the couch next to the pile of folded laundry Martin’s piled up. “Whatever. If he wants to think that and it lets she and I discuss the case without interruption, I suppose it doesn't matter.” 

“I don’t recall either way. I think I was mostly consumed with worrying about you and Gertrude at the time. Probably nothing bad comes of it?” 

“Possibly. THe you in this timeline is… Remarkably concerned about my wellbeing.” If Jon didn’t know the Martin next to him, sitting on the other side of this laundry pile, he’d be suspicious about the level of concern. But… It’s probably nothing. Even as he thinks it, he’s getting a slightly different read on things, but nothing solid just yet. “That’s all that’s happened this week, I think.” 

“Good. That’s good. I think it does end up being quiet for a while, at least.”

“For now. Basira is trying to get me some of the tapes found with… With Gertrude. They may have something to do with it.” Jon leans his head back over the back of the couch; uncharacteristic of the prim and proper Archivist, but… He’s wishing he hadn’t quit smoking before. He knows he quiet and he knows it’s good he quit, but sometimes… “How are things here?”

“Oh you know. Very quiet. I think your neighbor’s starting to wonder who I am, though.” 

“It’s not really my neighbor’s business is it? Unless you make it her business.” Honestly, Jon doesn’t know how long Martin will be here or if there’s some kind of event he’s supposed to wait for. Until then, he’s Jon’s guest.

“W-well, no. But she sees me coming and going and…” He trails off a bit, considering. He seems to be thinking about something, then, “I think the Alexandria tape is coming up.” 

Jon quirks his head to look sidelong at him. “Alexandria. _Really_.”

“Yes, really. Something about a mummy in the 1940s. Not terribly relevant, but distinct.” 

Jon’s entire mood and expression sour at that. _Mummies_. Ugh. “Great. Can’t wait to listen to that one.” But his tone says _no he really does not want to_. 

“I mean, you could avoid it? I don’t know what that would do exactly.” Martin curls in on himself a little. “I don’t know how much I should tell you in general.” 

Jon sighs, “No, no. It’s a statement, I’ll have to read it eventually.” It’s his job. And while he’s investigating… Elias? Elias now, he can’t raise suspicion by skipping one. Jon pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs a little under his glasses. “It’s all right. You’ve already told me quite a bit. It’s just… Up to me to put the pieces together now.” 

“Right. And - and avoid the big things, yeah? Don’t smash that table in Artefact Storage. Stop the Unknowing without getting Tim killed.”

Jon only mumbles, “I hope I can get through that without getting Tim killed.” As much as Tim hates him right now, Jon still doesn’t want him to die. He doesn’t understand the table thing yet, but since it’s come up he has some other things to look into regarding it. “Right… What did you want to eat?”

Martin seems to brighten at that, the mention of easier things. “Oh, I have dinner ready for you. Potato pancakes. Found a recipe close to the one I remember making as a kid.” 

“Really? Is that what that smell is?” Jon could get spoiled to this if he’s not careful. 

“Yes. They’re just keeping warm in the oven right now. If you want to do the usual?” 

“On it.” It’s fallen into routine these past two weeks, Jon getting the plates and flatware while Martin serves the food. He’s up and moving, letting his bag with his laptop lean against the couch. Plates come down from their usual cabinet and cutlery out, glasses of water. 

He’s been trying to be respectful and accept whatever Martin feels comfortable sharing, but Jon would be lying if he said he isn’t dying to know. He wants to know so badly. He watches as Martin retrieves the fine little stacks of pancakes from the oven, as well as a bowl with salad from the refrigerator. There’s clearly the plan to portion it out into lunches for Jon after. 

“...Martin, is it… Would it be too much to ask what it’s like? Two years from now?”

Martin slows at that question. “What… What do you want to know, exactly?” His hands are faded as he sets the salad bowl down. Jon can see them trembling lightly. 

“...Whatever you feel comfortable talking about.” The things Martin had told him are bad, but it must be even worse. “If you’re not - I mean, if you don’t want to say anything, that’s all right. I won’t…” 

“You won’t compel it out of me?” Martin laughs, like a joke. Maybe a private one Jon isn’t privy to. “It’s nothing good, Jon.”

Something about that phrasing - ‘compel it out of him’ - has Jon’s brows knotting in concern. And then laughter, he isn’t sure. There’s so much he doesn’t understand. And it doesn’t look like he’ll get the answers until it’s too late to stop any of whatever it is that happened. His voice softens, but it’s a little sad as well. “Then it’s all right. Don’t worry about this, forget I asked.” 

“I just…” Martin bows his head a little. “If I tell you, you’ll try to save the other me. And I'm afraid that will put you in danger.” 

Jon focuses on keeping his hands busy. Bringing their plates to the table, their bowls. Save the current timeline Martin… That already has wheels turning, mental notes to keep a closer eye on him. Maybe some time after work hours to… To what? He’s already been told by Elias that they don’t want him spying on them. _That_ message was received loud and clear. He doesn’t know what to do. 

“I don’t know if you noticed, Martin, but I'm pretty good about putting myself in danger without it being to save anyone.” His own kind of stupid joke. 

It does get a weak chuckle. “God, that’s true. If I listed off all the ways you leapt into trouble…” He trails off in thought. Focuses again. “I-i made a deal with Lukas. I think I mentioned that.” 

Jon sets down their glasses of water, but pauses at that. He hadn’t expected Martin to say anything after what they just said. “Y-yes. You did. You also said he takes over the Institute?”

“He does, yes. After I get Elias arrested. You - you might consider stopping me from doing that. It’s a long, miserable story. But Lukas wanted to install me in the Panopticon. Take it for himself, away from Jonah Magnus. And when I refused ,he shoved me into the Lonely and left me there to die.” 

Whatever meal they were about to eat is forgotten. Jon stares at him, eyes slowly widening behind his glasses. HE doesn’t know what the Panopticon is (he does, he knows the name, he knows about its history but nothing about what it currently is) or what the Lonely is, or what any of that _means_. But being left somewhere to die....

“Martin, I. I-is that. Is that where you were? When you saw the door?”

The man nods, looking down at his hands. The fingertips are nearly translucent in spots, and horribly gray and pale everywhere else. “Yes, Jon. I don’t know how long I’d been in there.” 

The Archivist keeps his eyes on Martin, watching him. Then nods, like he’s made a decision. In fact, he has. 

“You’re not going back.” 

Martin jolts, sitting upright. His face pinks just a little. “But - I can’t stay here, Jon. There’s already a _me_ here.” 

“I’ll - I’ll figure something out. But if the alternative for you is going back to - to whatever ‘the Lonely’ is and dying? Then you’re not doing that.” Satisfied, he stuffs a big bite of salad in his mouth. 

Martin seems to blush deeper and looks down at his own plate. “Even if it means you’re stuck sharing your flat with me?”

“Living alone can be overrated.” Another bite. 

“I’ll… I’ll make having a roommate as nice as possible,” Martin manages before starting to eat slowly. 

Jon watches him. Wonders about it; has Martin always put himself down like this? Maybe his own constant… comments didn’t help in that regard. He sees it now, how nearly translucent Martin’s fingers are before looking back at his own food. Getting ready another bite. “You know though. You just might make a good ghost after all.” It’s a joke. He’s trying. 

At that, Martin withdraws his hands, hiding them in his lap. “R-right. A ghost haunting the Archive.” He manages a small smile, still hiding his hands. Jon sees it, knows now where that line is and not to cross it. Jokes about Martin being a ghost: off limits. 

“I’m sorry, I just… It’s not important.” 

“N-no, it’s. It’s good. IT’s fine? I just - I mean, you know how it is. Can’t survive an encounter with an entity without it leaving a mark, right?” He waves at Jon’s worm scars.

“Entities…” He self consciously reaches up to scratch at one of the mostly-healed holes. “You mentioned them. Fourteen of them, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Martin reaches out with one of those translucent fingers, gesturing to a worm scar but not quite making contact. “The Corruption marked you there. And for me… Well. The Lonely.” 

Jon looks at his own fingers when Martin gestures to his scar. Then his eyes drift slowly to Martin’s own hand that he’s hesitantly left out for Jon to look at more closely. He holds one of his own just under Martin’s, not touching. Really looking at it. He can see his own fingers through Martin’s dimly. It’s like looking through frosted glass. It’s… sad. It’s not what Jon would have initially thought of it, but it’s sad. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, Jon. Just - just don’t die in the Unknowing, and none of this happens to the me here.” 

“...Do you think if I change that, would it change… You? Th-the you that’s in front of me, right now?”

A brittle laugh cuts through the space between them. “God, I hope not. If you did, I’d probably just disappear. Cease to be. And that’s - that’s depressing, so let’s just assume I’m cut off from my own timeline and nothing you do will affect what I became.” 

“That’s… a much nicer idea, yes.” Jon pulls his hand back, still having not touched Martin’s. It’s… fine. They’ll. They’ll probably be all right. Just don’t let Tim get killed. Don’t get killed himself. Don’t let Elias get arrested. Don’t let Lukas take over the Institute. Easy enough tasks to keep him busy. 

Martin withdraws his own hand, resuming dinner. “Right. Reckon it’s the more useful theory anyway.” 

“Possibly.” He has a few other ideas, but time travel and science fiction were never his forte. Since Martin went back to the meal, so will he. But it’s… a little less enthusiastic, no matter how good the pancakes are. Martin apparently notices, tries to salvage it.

“How - how do you like dinner? Did it turn out all right?”

“Oh. Yes, it’s. It’s good. Thank you.” Lord, he feels awkward about this. Martin seems to relax a bit though. 

“Do you have any preferences for tomorrow? Ingredients or, or flavors or anything? I thought I’d do something special since it’s the weekend.” 

“No idea.” Jon finally tries a pancake and. God. He didn’t realize how little variations of things he ate until these few weeks, really. “Anything is fine. You… Really know what you’re doing.”

“L-like I said, I’ve been cooking since I was a kid. So. Lots of practice.” Even this faint amount of pink looks a bit odd to Martin’s pallid cheeks. It’s so pronounced it’s impossible to miss. Has Martin really not been complimented that much? Maybe Jon should keep that in mind at work… 

“It did you a lot of good.” 

“Well. I mean. I cook less for myself, admittedly. It’s easier to cook for someone else.” 

“All the same, you’re great at it. I tend to stick to a few dishes.” Jon’s grandmother didn’t teach him much, and it wasn’t like he ever patiently sat around to be taught. 

“Do you want me to teach you?”

“What?”

“Do you. Do you want me to, er. Teach you how to cook? If you’d rather not that’s fine, I just-” 

“I- no, it’s fine. I just hadn’t considered it before.”

“O-oh. Well. Then, I mean, we could cook together on your next day off? Just take the afternoon.” 

“...Sure. Just pick up whatever you want to cook and let’s. Do that.” 

“All right. That would be lovely, then.” Martin seems in better spirits at least. Jon isn’t thinking too much about what he just agreed to. 

“Cooking lesson this weekend.” 

“Do you want to go back to the board tonight? Fill in a few more things?” he asks, finishing his plate. 

Jon shakes his head, “No, I… I think it’s all right to take a night off.” Martin’s already given him so much information that he needs to parse and process. It doesn’t feel like the right time to dive into his board.

“Oh. What do you want to do instead?” 

Ah, that was the question. Without talk of the Entities and conspiracies, it did leave the evening open. He thinks for a moment, looking around his flat. 

“There’s a documentary I’ve been intending to watch?” 

“Oh. Put that on then? All right.” 

They both sound tired. Jon’s concerned for both the Martins in his life now, and what the future brings. He gets things set up on the coffee table and pulls up the documentary. Egypt and pyramids and things he already knows and fully expects to be correcting them on from the comfort of his sofa. Martin does have to scoot in closer at one point to see something Jon points out, his shoulder making the slightest contact with Jon’s. Neither notice, how from that minimal point of contact, color blooms, hesitantly. The dismally gray jumper shows a hint of blue spreading from the spot, like a drop of ink on ice. It’s nice, all things considered. While Jon had only really hung out with Martin and the others at work functions and occasionally drinks, it’s all right like this. And he’s sure Martin is only indulging him and his need to correct a pre-recorded program, likely because there’s nowhere else for Martin to really go. But all the same, it’s… Nice. 

When it’s over, he starts carefully picking up and cleaning things from dinner and where they inevitably brought their tea to the couch. 

“Martin, are you sure you’re all right just sleeping on the couch?”

He laughs nervously, “Yes? I mean - I could sleep on the floor, I suppose, but the couch is much better.”

“Hm.. No, that’s not much better,” Jon mumbles. He’d gotten into the habit of mumbling to himself a lot since the Prentiss attack. These days he does it without even thinking. He sets to cleaning the few dishes they dirtied by hand while he thinks. “You’re not going to sleep on the floor, Martin.” His thoughts trail off, it’s not like he could just get a bigger place because he can barely afford this one bedroom as it is, and Martin can’t work because of the whole time travel situation, and _really_ what did he think he was asking with tha-

Martin hovers. “Right. So the couch is perfectly fine.” The words cut through Jon’s thoughts.

“Oh. Right, Good. Okay.” Maybe a fold out bed or one of those inflatable mattresses people use when camping or something. 

“Jon, you don’t have a second bed. And I’m not kicking you out of yours.” 

“No, right. I-i know. I just… wanted to check since it’s been a couple of weeks.” 

Martin stares at him for a brief moment, tilting his head a bit curiously. “Are you worried about me?” 

Jon sputters, almost dropping the tea mug in his hands. “I- well. Yes? I mean, you’re here, and you’ve been giving me warnings and information. I just. I thought I’d be polite.” 

Martin smiles, “I’m very comfortable here, Jon. Better than I’ve been in a while.” 

“Well. Good. I’m very glad to hear that.” Please let him go die in peace. 

“Are you uncomfortable with me being here?”

“Not… Really. It just. It feels nice. Having someone here and know that I’m not… crazy.”

He catches Martin’s expression softening in the corner of his eye, a hand raising to rest on Jon’s shoulder without making contact. 

“No, you’re not crazy. Most of the things you think you’re seeing are real. And the rest still make sense.”

Jon knows there’s always the chance this Martin is a hallucination or delusion brought about by paranoia and intense seclusion and the nature of statements he’s been reading, as well as the mystery of Gertrude’s murder and Basira not contacting him anymore to bring anymore of the tapes, and Tim hating him now, and Martin at the office being jumpier than usual and Sasha being… not… Sasha… Who knows. The mugs go on the drying rack and he dries his hands. 

“Thank you, Martin.” 

Martin hesitates again. But this time he steps in to close the gap between them, laying his hand very lightly on Jon’s shoulder. His fingers are ice cold. “Of course. We’re - I. I like to think you’re my friend, Jon.” 

It feels real and solid enough. But Martin’s words catch him off guard, a little out of breath. “...Yes. Yes, I’m. I think that as well.” 

“I’m so glad, Jon. I-” Martin swallows thickly. “I thought I’d never see you again.” 

“Well. At the very least I can promise I'll be here.” 

“Do you? Do you really promise, Jon?”

“I-” He flounders for a second. Then really, _really_ looks at Martin. “I can promise to do my best.” 

Jon can see the flicker of hope in Martin’s face compared to the aching uncertainty in the rest of him. He looks so much like a ghost… It bothers Jon. Not in a negative way, but in the way that’s worried about this man.

“I suppose that’s all I can ask for.” 

“And I hope my best is good enough.”

Martin winces at that. “Not… Not historically. But maybe if we cheat.” 

The Archivist lets out a loud guffaw, “You don’t quite have to put me down like that!”

“S-sorry! I’m just speaking from experience!” 

“Well. I guess I'll just have to do better than my best, won’t I?”

“Yes, that’s. That’s where using time travel to cheat comes in.” 

“Isn’t that generally frowned upon in some video games?” 

“I really, really don’t care what the consequences are. As long as you’re safe.” 

Jon looks at him determinedly. “That doesn’t matter much if you aren’t safe as well.” 

“No. It doesn’t matter what happens to me.” 

“It does to me.”

“Why?” It’s a flat, limp word between them. 

“Because I care about you.” 

“You’ve known me for - for what? Three weeks?” Martin shakes his head sharply. “You care about your Martin. The one in this timeline. And that’s a _good_ thing. When I figure out how to properly save you from the future, you can go to him in safety. And - and I don’t know, maybe I’ll just disappear. That would be easiest for everyone.”

He looks visibly taken aback by those words and watches Martin. He expresses his own feelings so rarely, and to have it thrown back in his face like this. The wall he’d let down starts slowly rebuilding around himself. 

“I didn’t realize time was the main factor in being allowed to feel things. My apologies, then.” 

“I- I didn’t mean-” Martin swallows hard, gaze lowering to the floor. “I’m just expendable, Jon. You shouldn’t treat me like I’m anything else.”

Jon realizes maybe he has been too harsh on Martin when he started the archive recording process. If this is what Martin thinks of himself now? Even after the Lonely got him? His voice is soft, that rare kind of sympathetic - like helping someone through something traumatic, he’s handled it a few times taking statements directly from subjects. Helen comes to mind, actually. That is who he’d last taken a statement from like that. 

“That isn’t true, you know.” 

Martin lifts his head again, tentatively meeting Jon’s gaze. “I’m a duplicate from a timeline where I’ve already failed. I don’t - I don’t even know if you should call me Martin.” But his voice goes softer, less accusatory, “Do you really care that much after just a few weeks?”

“So? All of that doesn’t mean you aren’t Martin.” For all the confusing things, timelines, conspiracies going on, the idea of Martin being here is… A no brainer. 

“I’m not _your_ Martin.” 

“... All the same.” Jon’s expression is almost sad at that. He thought he’d gotten through. It only means he’ll have to show he means it through actions over however long Martin stays with him. The kitchen’s done and they already said they weren’t working on the board tonight. He looks at the clock on his range and sighs. “I should sleep. I’ll catch you in the morning?”

Martin takes a step back, giving Jon space to leave if he likes. “I-i’m sorry, I’ve said something wrong.” He wrings his hands anxiously. “Morning, then. I’ll. I’ll get up early and make breakfast.” 

Jon already had plans in his head to do the same. “You don’t have to do that. Try to sleep some?”

“All right. You get some rest too.”

* * *

Jon sleeps about as much as he normally does. Which is to say not much at all. But he still wakes up early. Even better, earlier than Martin still asleep on his couch. He smiles to himself having won this little contest and quietly starts getting things out. Within the hour, there’s the smell of cooked sausage, warm bread, and cheese. By the time Martin jolts up from under his frosted blanket, Jon’s finishing up. He staggers into the kitchen, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders with his mouth open to apologize.

“That… That smells wonderful.” 

On cue, Jon hands Martin a plate with two fried egg sandwiches and a napkin fresh off the stove. “Thank you. I told you, I’m not a complete dolt in the kitchen. Good morning.” Martin’s eyes are stuck on the plate, like Jon just gave him a plate of gold or something. 

“I didn’t say you were, just. I really did mean to get up early and cook.” 

“I know you did,” he states it so matter-of-fact, and he has no idea the implications those words may have for Martin. “That’s why I had to get up before you.” 

The larger man ducks his head, pinking slightly around the edges. “Thank you. I’m sorry.” 

“Nothing to apologize for. I’m just… Glad you’re here.” Jon sits at the table with his own breakfast now. Martin joins him after a moment, starting to tuck in and savoring each bite.

“I- I am too, Jon.” 

Seeing him eat does make Jon feel a smidge better. He was worried. He shouldn’t be, Martin’s eaten food the last few weeks too, but he was worried about _this_. Nothing else immediately to say, he eats along with him. Taking a break from the tunnels and keeping an ear out for Basira. He has a tape to listen to when he gets to the office. Today will be a _good_ day. 

“Can’t remember the last time anyone cooked for me.” 

“That’s a shame. I’ll do it more often.” The thought occurs that maybe they could alternate what nights and mornings they cook. 

“I-i don’t want to impose. I should be helping you if I’m here.” 

“You aren’t imposing. I’ll take Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.” 

“All right, if you want to do it then- Thank you.” 

“Of course, Martin. And besides, you are helping.”

“Less than I’d like. I’ve probably given you all the useful information already.” 

“It’s not… It’s not _just_ information, Martin.” Christ. How does he explain this without sounding absolutely mad and also not… desperate. “I’ve… So much of my time in the Institute, I’ve. Suspected things. And since the Prentiss attack, it’s just. It’s good. To know I’m not. Mad.” 

Martin lifts his head at that. “No. No, you’re not mad. It’s all real, and much more terrible than even you realize.” He looks back down at his glassy, faded fingers. “I wish I could do more to save you from it.” 

Jon follows his gaze to Martin’s fingers, frosted and not entirely there. As domestic and simple as all this is, it doesn’t take away from the fact Martin’s been through a hell of a lot and is a man out of time now. 

“You’re already doing loads. Thank you, Martin.” 

Martin watches him. Nods slowly. “So. So what’s the plan for today?”

“Hm.” He takes a final few bites of his breakfast. “I’ve got work, and then maybe… I think taking a break from the tunnels. So I’ll likely come back home.” That seems to have Martin brighten quickly. 

“Would you - would you like to go out somewhere then? Nowhere special, really, but there is a lovely cafe not too far down the road.”

“Sure.” He doesn’t even think what he’s agreeing to. “I don’t get to cafes too often.”

“Well - Here’s your excuse.” 

“Thank you. I’m. I’m looking forward to it.” He says it with so much confidence, one might think he was projecting a bit hard. Jon isn’t sure it’s a _good_ idea, between everything at the Institute going on and trying not to let on that this Martin is from their future. “I won’t keep you waiting after I’m off then.” Jon has to admit to himself, he’s relieved when he sees a small smile cross Martin’s face. 

“ _Please_ don’t. It closes at eight.” 

“All right! I hear you, I won’t stay at work late.”

“Good. All right. Just - just text me when you’re on your way back and I’ll meet you there.” 

“All right.” A beat. “Where am I meeting?”

“Do you - do you not know the little cafe down the road? Brown sign, has a tea pun in its name?”

“....Right. I’ll meet you there.” He absolutely does not know. 

Martin, for his part, tries to hold back the exasperation in his tone. “I’ll message you with the address.” Jon does look a bit put off at being called on his bluff. 

“That’s fine too.”

“I’ll probably see about some sort of part time work too. Something that won’t require a background check.” There’s a bit of warmth returning to Martin’s skin as he returns to eating. 

“Oh. Um. Are you sure?” Jon doesn’t really know what all Martin’s current physical condition entails. “I mean, I can’t stop you, but…” He worries. He worries far more than he realized he would.

“I’m going to be stuck here for a long time. Better if I make something of it.”

“I understand.” He doesn’t like it. “Maybe there’ll be some luck while we’re out later.” 

“Would be nice. I could certainly serve up tea with the best of them.”

“You certainly can. Anyone in that business would be an idiot not to hire you.” 

Martin looks a bit sheepish. “Y-you say that, but I actually did try. Before the Institute anyway. Surprisingly picky.” 

“Then they _were_ idiots.” He thinks so, anyway. Nevermind Jon hasn’t had that much experience being served. Martin manages a small laugh. 

“I’ll make sure to ask while we’re there.” 

Jon nods and they go back to finishing their breakfast. As the day goes on, he feels a bit better about deciding to take a break from the tunnels. The statements aren’t getting any easier, and he’s finding himself more and more tired after them. Probably just his body finally settling in after the trauma and healing. The end of the day finally rolls around and he only stayed a few minutes late - checking the lock on the tunnels, making sure everything’s in order for tomorrow, watching Sasha just for a few minutes… And having to look up the address of the cafe. In everything, they sort of forgot Martin didn’t actually have a phone on him. But he gets there within a reasonable time of leaving work. 

“Martin.” He grabs his seat and feels almost relieved to see him there waiting. Martin doesn’t have any menus yet or anything. Instead, he’d brought a book to read while waiting for Jon, and looks pleasantly surprised he didn’t have to wait long at all.

“Look at that. You made it after all.” 

“I told you I would.” The doubt stings a bit. But considering how much the current timeline Martin won’t come near him, Tim hates him… Perhaps Jon isn’t entirely unprepared for degrading comments. “You were right, easy enough to find.” 

“I thought so. I haven’t been here in a long while but.” 

It’s cozy, if a bit quiet. A warm savory smell promises at least some kind of supper to go with their tea. A quiche, or sandwiches. The waitress smiles at Jon and sets a single menu in front of him. 

“Oh - thank you.” He doesn’t think much of it, picking the menu up to glance. Wondering what good tea could go with sandwiches. “You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

“No, no. Only a few minutes, maybe.” Martin leans in closer to sneak a peek at the menu himself. Jon holds the menu over so it’s easier. “How was work?”

“It was… All right. As we’re getting closer to Halloween, it’s. Nice to be dealing with obviously fake statements.” 

Martin is just a hairsbreadth away from touching Jon like this. It feels dimly chilly in the evening air, but it’s nice. 

“Ah, yes. I remember that. I had to work intake once in October a while back. Not fun either.”

“I didn’t think I’d be this relieved to be quite honest.”

“Yeah? Nice to know that it’s not real? Nothing that can really hurt you?”

“Don’t have to feel the crawling paranoia or unease. It’s just… Simple.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I-i get it. I’d love to go back to that.” Martin leans back a bit, seemingly done with the menu. The server returns a moment later, cheerily asking Jon what he’d like. A simple black tea and sandwich, Martin requesting a rooibos and nice focaccia. 

“You could, you know,” Jon starts. “Maybe this is a chance for you too.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean…” Martin had mentioned that if they try to leave the Institute they’ll die? Or something? His memory is a bit hazy from that night. So much had happened. “The you, this you. You aren’t working for the Institute. You don’t… have any obligation to it.”

“No, Jon, I don’t.” Martin’s agreeing, but his expression is soft, and a little sad. “That doesn’t mean I want to leave.” 

“You still…. Want to be connected to it all? You could be free.” He can’t comprehend wanting to stay and be part of this nightmare when there’s a chance to get out. 

Martin’s laugh in response is strange. Quiet. “I don’t care about _all_ of it. I care about - about you.” 

A metaphorical pin drops somewhere in the back of his mind as he watches Martin. Jon is unmoving, waiting for his tea and sandwich to come, but he cannot look away. It feels like… Like the world’s paused for just a moment, holding its breath waiting.

His voice is quiet, unsure, “What?”

Martin seems to go even paler than he already is, his face stricken. “I - it’s just - look, I just mean - we’re friends and, and that involves caring-”

“No.” Jon calms his voice, but he sounds curious more than anything else. Something Martin said before, that first conversation they had springs to mind. “You mentioned before… Back at the Archive when you turned up. ‘The man you love’.” 

“Yes. Yes, I did,” is what Martin manages, hunching in on himself a little. 

Jon watches him carefully for a few moments before a quiet sigh. Nothing horrible, just a quiet bit of relief. “Well. I suppose it’s flattering to want your boss to meet the person you love.” He’s thinking about making holiday parties less awkward, or the fact Martin’s been staying with his boss instead of this mystery man. But ever since he realized he was spiraling, he’s trying to cut back on being creepy and invasive of others’ privacy. “I’m sorry, I probably… That was. Likely inappropriate to bring up.” 

Martin only stares at Jon for a moment, mouth open. His jaw works before finally speaking again. “N-no, you’re. You’re fine. I don’t. Mind the topic.” 

“I see. All the same, I… do hope things work out.” 

“I-i do too. I mean. It’s tougher here? He, ah. Doesn’t remember anything close to the relationship we had.”

“Right, I suppose that would be an issue considering…” He trails off, seeing the server bringing their tea. Except only his own tea was brought, and not the rooibos for Martin. He carefully moves his cup _just so_ from where it was set down. “Either way, I’m. I’m hopeful for you both. And didn’t you order something? You would think they’d bring them both together.” 

“Yes, you would.” Martin drags a hand down his face. “Would you mind getting her attention?”

Jon was already ahead of him, raising a hand. “Excuse me? Miss, my, “ oh god what is Martin. Not his coworker or employee because _this_ Martin doesn’t work for him, but roommate is presumptuous in a way he can’t explain. “My friend ordered a rooibos tea? And a meal, what was it, Martin?”

“The focaccia please. Yes.” 

The server looks from Jon to the seat Martin occupies, then back to Jon with clear judgement. 

“If you wanted a double, you should have said so. No need to order for your imaginary friend.” 

“My… what?” Something sinks in Jon’s chest, a weight pulling everything down. No. No, no no no, this… Jon doesn’t look away from her, feeling something akin to low rising panic building. “You really don’t see him there? A person.” 

He looks to Martin, then at the table. Then carefully slides his cup to Martin.

“Martin, pick it up, give that tea a try?” Surely she will see there is clearly a person there and lifting the cup. 

Martin looks a bit defeated, and even more see-through than he was moments ago. He picks the cup up naturally enough. It’s perfectly normal, watching him take a sip and the level of the tea left in the cup dips accordingly. But the waitress stares with utter blankness, not seeing anything the least bit unusual. 

“This is a real funny joke to you, isn’t it?”

“It’s… It’s not.” There’s the sneaking of an idea, a thought he hasn’t wanted to entertain since this Martin showed up. He showed up immediately after an encounter with Michael, the Spiral. The entity of madness. Ostensibly, surely, Martin had to talk to and interact with others to get the food that’s been in their fridge, the neighbors watching him come and go. He hasn’t… He hasn’t just imagined coming home to meals already freshly cooked. But someone not seeing his friend here, plain as day so clearly, is sending him… Well. Spiraling. 

Jon swallows thickly, then takes a bit of cash out of his wallet and sets it down, almost double for a large tip. 

“I think. I think I should be leaving.” Jon hopes Martin doesn’t hate him for this. He hopes Martin comes with him. If this waitress thinks he’s crazy, being as old as he is with an ‘imaginary friend’, he doesn’t want to make it worse asking the ‘friend’ to leave with him. 

Martin jolts with surprise as he stands, moving to match him. “Jon? Wait, you haven’t even - what about dinner?” 

Jon does slow a bit when he hears Martin calling after him. “We can - I’ll order delivery or, or something.” He feels a bit guilty now. Martin likes this cafe, right? It’s not too far back to his flat, but he just feels dread in the pit of his stomach. “...She couldn’t see you, Martin.” 

Martin falls into step next to him miserably, hanging his head. “Yes. That - it’s. It’s not the first time it’s happened to me.” 

He’s shocked by that. “What? That’s… Martin.” He forgets for a moment he may be spiraling into madness. 

“I-i haven’t been _stealing_ or anything. Tesco’s got those automated tellers nowadays, and if I have to use a cashier and they can’t see me, I leave money.” 

None of that helps Jon’s worry that he’s losing his mind. “...I don’t like this.” Even as he opens the door to his flat, he doesn’t like this. “Is that how you’ve been getting on since you got here? Just accepting people who don’t see you and using the automateds?”

“It’s- it’s how I’ve been getting on for the last six months, Jon. Even before I came here.” Martin’s feet barely disturb the rug on the floor as he follows inside. Jon sees it, now suspicious in a way he wasn’t before.

“How does something like that happen.”

“I’ve told you about Peter Lukas, right? Avatar of the Lonely?”

“Yes, you have.” The door is locked behind them and Jon… Settles. He settles for possibly only getting a half answer. As much as he appreciates this Martin and wants him safe, he also knows he hasn’t answered all of Jon’s questions, not entirely. So he settles in for what may be a rough evening and sits on the couch. “What about him?”

Martin slowly sinks into the couch next to him, making it shift under his weight. That feels real enough. 

“I… I made a deal with him. To protect the surviving members of the Institute. Id’ be his assistant, and he’d stop disappearing my coworkers. He wanted me to align with the Lonely so he could - could use me.” 

The lonely, the Lukases… He remembers a few of the statements. One of the statement givers feeling so completely and utterly alone. What had that piece of tombstone read? _Forgotten_. 

“And … That made you, what? Invisible to people but not everyone?”

Martin rubs at his face. “Yes? I think it was - was more of a side effect. It wasn’t consistent, so at first I thought some people were just being a bit rude. But then it happened more often, and… And at some point, no one could. Not unless you were on Archive staff already.”

“What else?”

“Wh… What d’you mean, ‘what else’?”

“There has to be more to this. I don’t-“ His own hands are trembling as he runs both hands through his hair. “I’m… Afraid I might be going mad.” 

“What? No, it’s - Is that what you’re worried about?”

“No one else we know has seen you. That waitress acted like I grew two other heads when I mentioned you. I-i can’t … I mean, you appeared _right after_ Michael stabbed me, and - And that’s his whole thing isn’t it? To, to make you question reality, to wonder if things are real.” 

Martin seems to pale even further as what Jon’s saying sinks in. He looks downright horrified.

“So you think - what, that I’m some sort of hallucination?”

“I don’t know.” 

“I - I’ll prove it to you then. Somehow, I - what do you want me to do.”

“I don’t know!” Jon tries to get his breath, feeling the world giving way underneath him. He’s sinking, he can feel it happening around him, but one solid point sticks out. He swallows hard. “Tim. I’ll ask Tim to come and see. If it’s something with the Archive, then he should be able to see you. And then I’m - I’m not going mad.” 

Martin’s eyes go wide at that. “Are… Are you sure? How are you even going to explain me?”

“I’ll figure that out when I know for sure he can see you. And… Then I’ll explain it.”

“Right. Okay. Bring - bring Tim then.”

“If he can see you then, no harm. And we’ll have someone else who could maybe help.” And if Tim can’t see this Martin, then maybe it’s just further proof Jon is losing his mind. He pulls his phone out because, crazy or not, he did say he’d get delivery after cutting the cafe short. And he is hungry. 

Martin sits very quietly for a moment. “And if he can’t see me? What then?”

“Then I don’t know. _Someone_ out there has to be able to see you besides me.” 

“If he can’t see me, I'll go. I don’t want you to believe you’re going insane, Jon.”

“No, I just. I don’t know… We’ll figure it out when we get to it.” He really is a pushover sometimes. 

“Sure. Just, Please believe me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Mentally or physically.” 

Jon watches him, the way he’s nearly see-through entirely and watching Jon earnestly. “I do believe that.” If there’s nothing else in the world Jon believes, it’s that Martin wouldn’t try to hurt him.

“Good. All right. Glad that’s - that’s settled then.”

**Author's Note:**

> The biggest thank you to Rho, Nishi, and Sammy for helping put this AU together over the [checks notes] last five months. This AU is really near and dear to my heart but I'm not sure how long it will actually be WOOPS. Anyway we're all playing loosey goosey with the Powers and the timeline so it'll get worse.
> 
> Feel free to hit me up at [twitter](http://twitter.com/spaceconfession) to yell at/with me.


End file.
